Thunder
by anakinlove
Summary: Robin  Tim  wonders why his mother had to die.


Bruce was working late in his room, quietly shifting through files. The only sound that permeated the silence was the dull pattering of rain outside. It slid down the large, elegant windows on its way to the saturated earth. Except for the occasional crash of lighting, which lite of the night sky, there was simply darkness. The clouds covered the sun, but Bruce preferred the darkness.

He could be working in the cave, but it had a nasty habit of taking on water, like a sinking ship, whenever it rained particularly roughly and Bruce was less inclined to get wet then he was to leave the sanctity of his fortress. So, he had forsaken his black Kevlar for more comfortable silk pajama bottoms, remaining bare chested. The large bruises forming across his broad shoulders like a pair of dark wings were better left untouched.

Bruce suppressed a heavy yawn and gazed at the page, which was beginning to swim before his eyes. With a sigh, he switched to the next one. He really should be getting into bed. The sheets and blankets would feel so delightfully warm and the soft pillow would cradle his aching head. He cast a wistful glance towards the bed and then returned to his work. Sleep could wait. Then, he heard a soft sound and glanced over at the dark corner of the room where the doorway was.

Even the sharp eyes of the Batman could no more probe the deep shadows than a mere mortal, but he could guess who it was. "I'll go to sleep in a few minutes Alfred", he mumbled softly, his voice slurred by exhaustion. Bruce expected the aging butler to make a sarcastic retort but one was noticeably absent.

Bruce glanced over at the corner of the room a second time just as lighting again lit up the night sky. Tim was standing there. Bruce frowned, confused for a moment. "Tim", he said, "What are you doing? Come here." Tim slowly came out of the shadows, eyes swimming with tension. He stood in what little light Bruce's lamp cast, nibbling his bottom lip and scuffing one foot against the other. His blue cotton pajamas, which were much too large for him, sagged about his waist and hung from his thin shoulders like the vines of a weeping willow, leaving one bare.

Tim made a move to hike up the bottoms a little, but said nothing to Bruce. He just gazed at his bare toes. Bruce examined him for a moment, wondering why the boy had come to him so late at night. By all counts, he should have been fast asleep.

When Batman had been unable to take Robin home that night, he simply bade him to stay at his house, rather then having the boy go out alone in the pouring rain. Tim wasn't the best motorcyclist on temperate nights and Bruce doubted if he would be able to handle one of the recalcitrant machines on a night such as this one.

Alfred had managed to locate some old pajamas of Dick's and the boy had been given a room. Bruce was surprised he wasn't fast asleep. He had seemed exhausted. "Tim, what's wrong?" Tim continued to gaze down at his feet in silence.

"I just…I uh…" Bruce frowned. It wasn't like Tim to be evasive.

"What's wrong?" he asked again. Tim shook his head.

"I'm uh…well, you see I was wondering if you might…you know…so I thought…" Now Bruce's patience was staring to wear thin. He had a lot of work to do and it almost seemed as if the boy was wasting his time on purpose.

"Tim", he said sharply, "go back to bed, I have to work. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning."

"But I…"

"Go", Bruce snapped, cutting him off. Tim turned around to leave.

"I just thought…he said softly, but you're too busy, it's ok." He started to walk off and Bruce returned to the paper on his desk. Suddenly though, Tim whipped around a second time and began to speak abruptly. "I was hoping you might…" Bruce looked up questioningly at him again and it almost seemed as if the child lost his nerve. His eyes returned to his feet. Bruce heaved a sigh.

"Come on Tim", he said, "spit it out or go to bed." Tim once again started to walk off and Bruce returned to the sheet before him once more before he heard a few soft words, mumbled under his, more to himself then to Bruce.

"It's just that…my mom…" Bruce's hard features noticeably softened.

"What about her?" he asked a little more gently then before, not turning from his desk. Tim turned around to face Bruce again, his soft blue eyes round with apprehension and his teeth worrying his lip.

"I heard the news about her death on a night like this", Tim mumbled, breaking eye contact again "…it was really stormy." Bruce gazed at him for a moment.

"And what is it you wish of me?" he asked softly. Tim muttered something in the direction of the ground and then looked up hopefully at Bruce.

"What?" Bruce asked.

"Well", said Tim, "it's ok, you're probably too busy anyway, I'll go."

"No", Bruce said, "what is it?" Tim looked away. "I'm sorry I snapped at you", Bruce murmured gently, "tell me." Tim returned his gaze longingly to his mentor's face and finally spoke.

"Will you…will you hold me?" Immediately after the words left his mouth, he turned away, blushing profusely.

"Come here", Bruce said. Tim shuffled up to him and stood before him a foot away, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Another crack of thunder broke the silence, driving the boy closer to the dark knight. Bruce suddenly felt the chill in the air, making him shiver. Tim did too. Bruce could tell he was cold.

Making a decision, he got up, gathering a few stacks of papers into his arms before moving towards his bed. Alfred had thoughtfully pulled back the covers and provided some extra blankets at the foot, trying to make it as irresistible as possible in his never ending quest to see his master receive a full night's rest.

Tim stood awkwardly while Bruce placed the papers on the bed and slipped in beside them. "Come", he said, beckoning Tim to stand beside the bed next to him. Tim came, gazing at him quizzically. "Get in and sit with me for a while", Bruce said, indicating the bed, "I'll be up late working so you can stay until I'm done." Tim nodded gratefully and climbed up onto the bed. "Here", Bruce said with a grunt, reaching down to the end of the bed for one of the blankets, "this'll keep you a little warmer.

He turned a little to face Tim, perched on his haunches and gazing at him. Bruce wrapped the blanket around the boy's shoulders. Then, he returned to his work. Tim lowered himself down a little so that his head was on the pillow. Bruce watched him out of the corner of his eye. Another crack of thunder lit up the sky, turning the trees stark white like ghosts.

Tim gave an involuntary jolt and pressed his shoulder against Bruce's hip, trembling. Bruce gave a sigh and Tim gazed up at him, obviously expecting to be ousted. Instead, Bruce turned his head to face him. "Come on up", he said, sounding defeated. Tim looked at him questioningly. "You said you wanted to be held. Well, come on, I'll hold you." Tim nibbled his bottom lip again and slowly moved into Bruce's lap, casting quick glances up at him like a puppy caught chewing someone's shoes. Another loud clap of thunder drove him fully into the dark knight's arms.

Bruce crossed his legs and Tim curled up into a little ball, drawing the blanket more tightly around himself. He laid his head down on Bruce's arm, which was elevated to raise a paper to his eyes. Bruce put his other arm around the boy in his lap, gently running his thumb over his side. Silence fell over the room, but for the sound of the rain pattering lightly. The methodic rhythm of Bruce's unhurried breathing, coupled with his warmth, quieted Tim and he closed his eyes matching the rise and fall of his chest to his mentor's.

"I'm sorry", he mumbled after a moment.

"Nothing to apologize for", Bruce replied gruffly, "sometimes, I forget you're only twelve." Tim heaved a sigh and closed his eyes again. The dull golden-red light from the only lamp in the room cast everything into an eerie, almost fire like aura. Tim blinked drowsily a few times and had almost fallen asleep when he heard Bruce murmur, "Why come to me?"

"Who else is there?" Tim replied, "You're all I've got." Bruce heaved a heavy breath and gave the tiniest of nods. He ran a hand over Tim, staring at the nape of his neck and moving downward, ending the caress with a gentle pat on his leg. He gave another yawn and pushed the papers down to the edge of his bed.

"I'm going to bed Tim", he said, "You'd better just head off as well."

"May I please stay", Tim asked softly, "just until the thunder stops." Bruce looked away for a moment and then back down at the boy.

"Alright", he said, "but just until the thunder stops." Tim crawled out of Bruce's lap so the dark knight could get up to turn off the lamp. Bruce then lowered himself beneath his cool sheets. Tim was lying on his side, his back to Bruce.

"Bruce?" he asked softly.

"Yes", Bruce murmured.

"Why do good people die?" Bruce gave a sigh and nestled more deeply into his bed.

"I don't know Tim", he replied softly, "though I wish I did. Perhaps because wherever we go after we die is much nicer then this place and they deserve it more then the rest of us."

"It wouldn't be hard to get better than Gotham", Tim mumbled.

"No", Bruce agreed, "I daresay it wouldn't."

"Do you think she's happy Bruce", Tim asked, "wherever she is?"

"I don't know", Bruce replied, "perhaps."

"What if there isn't a heaven Bruce", Tim said suddenly, rolling over to face his mentor, "What then? I'll never see her again." Bruce gave a sigh.

"If there is no heaven", he murmured, "then what hope have we. I suppose it wouldn't hurt you to think that there is one. Then, even if there isn't, you will have lost nothing." Tim nodded slowly.

"Do you believe in heaven?" he asked.

"I don't know", Bruce said with a sigh, "it would be nice if there was one, but I don't know." He pushed a strand of hair out of Tim's face. "You can believe whatever you'd like son", he continued, "whatever makes you happy." Tim gave him a small smile at being called son and closed his eyes. He moved foreward a little and leaned against Bruce's chest. Bruce put his arms around him paternally and rubbed his back. The thunder persisted even as Tim's breathing slowed to an obvious sleep pattern and his trembling stopped.

The morning sunlight, creeping in through the large, still damp windows, found Tim lying a little ways away from Bruce with his back to him. Bruce blinked blearily as the sunlight slowly slithered over him. The first thing he saw was Tim's slight form. "So, you let him stay the night in your bed?" Bruce slowly rolled over and found himself looking at Nightwing, standing in the corner of the room, head cocked quizzically and eyes questioning. Bruce shrugged.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked, "I let you often enough."

"I'm not condemning anything", Wing replied, "I think it's good." Bruce nodded and Tim stretched and yawned. He rolled over to face Bruce, blinking blearily.

"Did the thunder stop?"


End file.
